Where We Come Alive
by hade5
Summary: It hasn't slipped past his attention that things have changed. Despite her rebirths, his Master loses a piece of herself with every death, leaving a growing, bottomless chasm in her soul striking unease in even him. But Death knows that for every imbalance created, the universe will eventually seek to correct it, as it has done so for all of time. Always, without fail. Fem!Harry.
1. Prologue

**Where We Come Alive**

_by starcanopus_

* * *

Prologue

* * *

Hariel Lily Potter is dead. Again.

It's never a great feeling, dying, to be honest. But she thinks that it's the part when she wakes up that is infinitely worse.

There's a moment, just before she opens her eyes, when all the joy and misery and _pain_ of her past lives converge into a singular, crippling grief pressing down on her chest. It paralyzes and suffocates, until it's like she's dying all over again. Harry feels that now, so fully and deeply.

Her first time waking up alone in this place is still etched into her mind. _It's so cold_, had been her first thought. An unwelcome, dark, and foreign place, at least until she finally realized what this place was and _why_ she was here.

She had fallen to her knees, so crushing was her realization of what was gone. Names and faces flashed into her mind, lingering as if to taunt her and make her see that she had failed in so many ways. _Ron. Hermione. Luna. Ginny. _Even Malfoy, who she'd finally made amends with. Harry had won the war against Voldemort in her world...but she'd never quite managed to come back from it. She kept fighting on in that life, both against her own demons and the remaining fragments of Voldemort's legacy, until one day a killing curse finally hit its mark.

She's not sure when she finally lost track. At some point or another, she had just stopped counting the lives lived and lost. Stopped caring so much, loving too hard. It used to ache so much, losing everything over and over and _over_ again. Things are more manageable now.

Well, to a certain extent.

Harry sits up slowly, pressing a cool hand to her forehead in an attempt to soothe the pounding headache chipping away at the inside of her skull. She can still hear the echoes of screams, the ghost of a heavy scent of blood assaulting her nose.

"Welcome back to the land of the dead."

Death's voice is far too pleased for Harry's liking and she levels an ugly look at his back.

"I felt that." complains Death, spinning around in the sleek and modern swivel chair he is perched on. The familiar dark robes obscure his person from her view. Instead of trying to make out his mysterious features as she had after her first few deaths, Harry fixes her gaze on the rippling black of his outfit, a dark, Stygian material that indicates clearly it's no ordinary cloak.

Harry remains sitting, focusing on clearing her mind and making quick work of suppressing the memories she wants to forget. Her attempts at Occlumency in her first life had been a disaster of epic proportions, and she had only started to pay attention to the skill after one particularly trying death, realizing that if she pushed hard enough, she could protect her mind not only from others, but also from herself.

Her forehead creases in concentration. Completely forgetting is a futile task and she had given up trying long ago. All Harry can hope to do is construct mental barriers stowing away the most painful memories. It doesn't make her forget, no matter how small the memory, but it dulls the ache. It's like seeing images through fragmented, stained glass instead. She much prefers that over the alternative.

Harry clenches her jaw. _This one __is more difficult. _Wars are harder to contain. They sink into everything, every memory, every wound, squeezing with a vice grip until you scream for air and still they won't let go. But she still tries. She has to.

When she finally does shift her weight to her hands and pushes herself onto her feet, an exaggerated sigh comes from across the room. The computer screens cast a white glow on Death, who is spinning round and round in the chair like a child.

"You're getting slower, Master," he laments. "It used to take you much faster to box away all that."

Harry scowls. "Shut up, you old coot. It's been a while since my last war."

"I see, so you're out of practice then."

She sighs and stalks toward him, choosing not to rise to his taunt.

"So what's next?" Harry asks wearily, placing a hand on the back of Death's chair. Her fingers sweep over the material. _Hm._ Expensive leather. Surveying the monitors on the large, curved desk sitting before Death, Harry winces when she sees the images on them, familiar and violent scenes from the life she just lived.

"Quick and to the point, I see. You're that eager to be rid of me?"

Harry lets out a snort. "I've spent too much time with you already. Our relationship works best when I just pop in to say hi and then get the hell out."

"True," agrees Death. "We'll drive each other mad if this goes on any longer."

"Glad to see you agree." Her voice is amused. Harry looks around again and frowns. "What is this place supposed to be?"

Death's voice is disappointed. His shoulders slouch down. "You can't tell? I spent so long designing this place."

Harry gives him a skeptical look. "You know, this might be the _least_ helpful Void you've ever shown me."

"What? How dare you."

"It's a bloody...cave." Harry quips, unimpressed. She gestures at the black desk, chair, and her surroundings. Admittedly, Death _did_ do a nice job with the room, dark and impressive stone walls stretching up and up, but it's not like she'd ever tell him that. His head's far too big as it is. "With a computer. This could be any gamer and his grandmother."

The room seems dismally lacking, as though there's a chunk of its essence simply _missing._

Death's habit of molding the Void to foreshadow her next life, while at first helpful, had quickly turned into a how-to-confuse-my-Master-as-much-as-I-can game for him. The bastard was quite good at it.

"I _did _wanted to upgrade this to its magnificent self but that would be giving you too many hints." Death wags a finger at her.

"Yes, Merlin forbid you ever let me have an easy go of things." Harry sighs but accepts the fact that she won't be squeezing any more information out of him.

A brief pause falls over the two and they both stare absently at the computer screens, with Harry turning her eyes away after a few seconds, unwilling to relive the past.

"Well," Harry breaks the comfortable silence. "If there's nothing else...shall we?"

Death raises his hand and places it on her forehead. A mischievous note seeps into his voice and Harry is barely able to catch his words to her before she falls unconscious.

"It's an interesting world. I think you'll like it."

* * *

He watches over her in the beginning, as he has for every one of her lifetimes.

The woman is moaning in pain, teeth clenched tightly as a thin sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead. Death's gaze draws towards the space between the mother-to-be's legs. Waiting patiently.

He is not a fool. He knows this time something will be different. When his Master had awoken before him, in the very spot where she always appears, he'd nearly fallen off the chair with the petrifying realization that he couldn't _sense_ her anymore. He couldn't sense the pieces of her that gave her strength, and the humming of their bond, while still there, was alarmingly weak. There would be a reckoning for that, he muses, and this life will test her to her very core.

A shrill cry pierces the stale air in the room. The woman is shivering violently, but she still reaches out for her child.

Death gravitates toward the two, hovering expectantly.

His Master's eyes open and though she cannot see anything at this stage, Death meets her eyes anyways. They are bright green, as always, the hue of new spring growth after a harsh winter, every shade of green in a forest. They are bright and they are _alive_.

And then, for the first time in what could only be eternity, Death..._feels _something. A _stirring_ in the cosmos and whispers of change. His gaze remains steady and he moves closer to his Master.

Six brilliantly golden strings burst from the newborn's chest, so sudden and unexpected that he has to take an unsteady step backwards. Each strand hurtles out the open window and into the night sky like individual arrows, twisting away from their parallel paths as soon as the open air greets them.

Death parts his lips and lets out a stunned chuckle. "I see..."

He continues staring long after they have vanished into the black sky. It's only when his Master gives a displeased cry—her magic has sensed that the woman on the hospital bed is no longer moving or breathing—does Death draw his attention back.

He waits until the humans in the room have plucked his Master from the dead woman before moving towards the glass box she is placed in.

He traces a long, mottled finger down her forehead, an angry red scar following the path. Death pauses for a moment, evaluating his options before picking up his Master's tiny arm. The mark of the Deathly Hallows shimmers silver before settling out of sight on her wrist, and he ignores the obvious fact that it no longer glows as brightly.

_Everything is as it should be. _

Apart from that whole string business. He doesn't envy her.

_But,_ he thinks, _it will be worth it. _

_It has to be. _

Because as much as he does not want to admit, his Master is damn good at what she does, and the thought of the consequences should she not...well, Death is almost unwilling to go there. He's grown quite fond of her, after all.

He touches her chest, where her tiny heart beats on.

"I hope you find what you need, Master."


	2. Chapter 1: Born Ready

**Where We Come Alive**

_by starcanopus_

* * *

Chapter 1: Born Ready

* * *

Green eyes blinked open blearily, squinting with mild irritation at the alarm clock.

_5:30 AM_.

An ungodly hour to be awake, in her opinion. Briefly lamenting over her questionable career choice in this life, Harry placed an arm over her eyes and tried to block out the dawn's early light.

She didn't move for a good five minutes, but the incessant beeping eventually snapped her resolve and she reached out a hand to shut it off. Harry swung a reluctant leg out of the safety of her warm bed and slowly dragged herself out, hissing when the cold hardwood floor met her feet. It was _freezing. _

She cast a quick heating charm before a soft sound caught her attention and she looked over towards the window. The curtains swayed gently with the cool morning breeze and it was then that she quickly realized the source of her poor feet's icy misery. Of course she'd forgotten to close the bloody thing again. The sounds of Gotham's light morning traffic drifted up into her apartment. Padding over to the window, Harry paused to take in the view of the awakening city before curling a hand around the edge of the large, sliding glass panel and pulling it down.

She cast a longing look back at her bed but resisted the urge, and instead rolled out the red yoga mat sitting under her windowsill. Harry quickly settled into her morning routine of yoga stretches—something she still wondered to this day why her Auror training in her first life had never included, it felt _so good_—and groaned in satisfaction as she felt the sore muscles loosen up. Last night had been a rough one, and all she'd managed to do when she got home was shower and promptly pass out on her bed, so her limbs were awfully stiff this morning.

When she finished, Harry headed into the bathroom to brush her teeth and splash cold water on her face to rid herself of any remaining sleep. Staring at herself in the mirror absently, one hand combed through her tangled bird's nest of hair. She tugged for a few more seconds at the red strands before deeming it an impossible task and fetching her wand from the nightstand instead. A few flicks of her wand had her hair up in a tight and clean ponytail.

A small snore drew her attention away from the mirror and Harry grinned, exiting the bathroom to follow the sound.

"Hey, Padfoot." whispered Harry, crouching down to pat the sleeping Rottweiler. His ears twitched. She smiled and whispered a soft 'a_guamenti,' _filling up his silver drinking bowl. She peered at the dog food bowl, checking to make sure the charm had correctly dispensed his breakfast for the day.

Her own breakfast was the usual and quick affair, consisting of a few pieces of toast, eggs, and two sausages. She wolfed them down hungrily and promptly tossed her plate into the sink where it automatically floated up and a sponge danced over to scrub it clean.

She slipped her wand into the waistband of her jeans, casting a disillusionment charm on it wandlessly and almost unconsciously, having done it so many times before. Harry slung her purse over her shoulder, patting the sleeping Padfoot on the head one last time—he was being particularly lazy today it seemed—and exiting her apartment.

Harry pulled the door shut behind her and locked it, simultaneously placing a hand on the door to check how her wards were holding up. They thrummed pleasantly and strongly against her palm. She had to jiggle her key a bit to remove it and made a mental reminder to fix the lock with her wand when she had time. It was all for show though, since no one would be able to pass through the wards without being brought in by her, but Harry liked to keep some things as Muggle as possible. For that, her apartment was modest, located in the middle of Gotham's East End. It wasn't cheap though, even though the fire escape rattled in the wind and she'd gotten stuck in the elevators more than once, but Harry was quite satisfied with her home.

"Hello, Harry dear."

Harry turned to see Mr. Bentham, a kind and elderly man who lived just down the hall, waving at her. A cane was gripped in one hand and in the other, he held a black leash attached to the collar of Jerry, his tiny chihuahua. By the looks of him waiting in front of the elevator doors, he must have been just headed out to walk Jerry.

She smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Bentham. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine." He bobbed his head and Harry headed towards him, stowing her keys away in her purse. "Off to work?"

"Indeed I am." Harry knelt down on one knee and scratched Jerry's snout. He whined with satisfaction, stubby tail wagging faster.

Mr. Bentham nodded his head, pleased, and Harry's gaze flickered down to his hand which was trembling just the slightest bit. She glanced towards the elevator doors before he could notice her stare. Harry's forehead creased in concentration, rifling through mental notes even as the two stepped into the lift. There had to be some sort of potion in there that could help. Mr. Bentham's Parkinson's symptoms, while still mild, had worsened over the last few weeks and though Harry had urged him to go see a doctor, he had stubbornly refused.

_Maybe I could slip him the potion secretly._

Harry sighed inwardly. That would mean she would need to sit down with him for tea or something, which was a problem. She was far too close to the man than for her own good already. It was strange. She was usually so good at keeping people at arm's length, just so after she died she wouldn't lose her nut and have to spend an overly long amount of time constructing mental walls, but Mr. Bentham had quickly turned out to be an exception.

Harry could only hope that he would be the only one.

"You know, Harry, I think you would get along very well with my son. Have I ever mentioned him?" He gave her a knowing look and Harry noted the hopeful expression on his face.

She laughed, pulling her ponytail out from her hoodie where it had gotten stuck under. "Several times, actually."

"He's a doctor."

"I remember."

The elevator doors opened and the two made their way out onto the street. Jerry yipped with excitement, looking up at his owner expectantly. Harry shot her neighbor an amused look and said gently, "I'm not looking for a relationship right now, Mr. Bentham."

The old man looked at her innocently. "Whoever said anything about a relationship?"

An incredulous laugh burst from Harry and she shook her head, calling out in exasperation as she walked away, "Have a nice walk, Mr. Bentham."

Jerry barked, a hint of disappointment obvious in the tiny dog as she left them behind.

"You stay safe, young lady!" Mr. Bentham shook his cane at her. "Else Jerry and I might have to start walking you to work for your protection."

Harry rolled her eyes, looking up at the grey sky and thinking back to the Rottweiler in her apartment who was probably bigger than her neighbor and his dog combined.

"All my potential muggers must be shaking in their boots as we speak."

She snorted in amusement when she heard Mr. Bentham's self-righteous reply as he turned away in the opposite direction, where his regular route was. "As they should be! As they should be."

* * *

"You look like you could use this."

Harry looked up from the pile of charts in front of her to see Aaron Maloney, one of the hospital's resident physical therapists, standing above her with two cups in his hands. He was a bit of a night owl, and Harry had quickly learned early on that he quite enjoyed taking night shifts which was how they always saw each other every day. The intoxicating scent of their contents wafted down to her.

Her fingers twitched greedily. "Is that coffee?"

After the excruciatingly long day she'd just had, she could _really_ use one.

Aaron nodded, a knowing grin spreading over his face. He wrinkled his nose at one of the cups before offering it to her. "Black, no cream or sugar, which is just the way you like it, you strange, _strange_ woman."

"My hero." Harry sighed, trading a chart for the enticing cup. Aaron glanced down not at the chart, but at the piece of paper Harry had stuck under the clip so she wouldn't forget about it. He peered at the note in Harry's scrawling handwriting of the details on another patient that would be arriving on the floor soon. "_Another _gunshot victim? That's the fifth one tonight I've heard about."

"Mm." Harry confirmed, inhaling a mouthful of the coffee. It was scalding, overly bitter, and tasted somewhat like dirt. Their floor's ancient coffee machine wasn't exactly coffee shop quality, but it was her only source of caffeine which was why she still drank from it. "A cop this time."

A sound of disapproval came from above her.

"The streets are getting more dangerous. And that's saying something." Aaron noted in a serious tone. He leaned forward and tapped the counter. "You shouldn't walk home anymore. Do you want me to give you a ride today? I wouldn't mind."

Harry chuckled. "I'll be fine, Aaron."

He shot her a skeptical look but upon seeing her no nonsense look, didn't press the issue any further. Changing the subject, he said plainly, "You look like shit."

"Thanks, you sure do know how to make a girl feel special." Harry replied. She rubbed her forehead and held up the schedule for this week. "It's just been a long day. I'm trying to make next week's shift schedule. Chloe's still on bedrest from her sprained ankle and we're all swamped. I've half a mind to request a float nurse."

"If you need one, you should."

Harry sighed longingly, but shook her head. "There are other floors that need them more than this one."

"Ah, Harry." Aaron chuckled. "Ever the selfless person."

"Thank you, I try."

A soft, rumbling sound drew their attention and the two lifted their heads to look down the hallway. The OR nurse accompanying the hospital bed being wheeled towards them was a few steps ahead of it and she reached the counter before the bed did.

"Hi, Harry," the older woman got right to the point, handing over the new chart and a piece of paper for Harry to sign off on. "Patient ID is 16559."

Harry nodded in confirmation, having already memorized the number from the earlier phone call. She handed the signed piece of paper back to the other nurse. "Thanks, Tess. Are you almost done for today?"

"Yes, thank God," the woman confirmed. "Just gonna make sure she's all settled in before I take off for the night."

Harry nodded.

"I'll see you later, Aaron." She stood up from the stool she'd been perched on and rounded the corner of the counter to follow her newest patient.

He pointed at her. "_Be_ careful going home tonight. I don't want to come to work tomorrow and find you in one of these hospital beds…or worse."

Harry grinned. "I'll try my best."

Aaron sighed at her usual words, probably all too familiar with her apparent lack of concern for her own safety, and turned away, downing the last of his coffee and walking towards his patient's room.

When she and Tess reached the empty room, Harry opened her mouth to warn, "Mind the doorwa—"

Clearly her words came too late because as soon as she spoke them, the patient transporter—a teenage volunteer, from the looks of him—caught the edge of the doorframe with the hospital bed and Harry bit back a sigh. It was clearly not the first time he had done that, from the way the other nurse pursed her lips.

Harry glanced over the medical documents as she waited for the hospital volunteer to finish setting up the bed and for Tess to make sure the IV hadn't been disturbed by their trip. The other nurse jerked a nod in her direction when their jobs were done and left immediately, leaving Harry alone in the room with her newest patient.

"Hello, Miss...Rohrbach." Harry flipped the chart closed and smiled down at the young detective gazing up with tired eyes at her. "My name is Hariel, but you can call me Harry. I'll be your nurse for today. How do you feel?"

She laid a hand on the patient's, a comforting gesture to anyone else, but it served a different purpose for Harry. Her magic hummed and flexed, surrounding the woman and quietly assessing.

_Frustration_, _discomfort_, _anxiety_.

Harry cast a silent and mild calming spell, watching as the patient's face smoothed over.

"Like I just got shot." rasped the woman.

Harry's lips twitched. "Well. You're not wrong, so to speak."

The woman let out a small chuckle that quickly turned into a cough. She closed her eyes, taking a moment before opening them again and staring up at the pale ceiling. The beeping of the vitals machine in the room was the only sound washing over the two, at least until Harry's patient was prepared to speak again.

"Where...where am I?" She gazed at Harry questioningly.

"Gotham General, Miss Rohrbach. In the postoperative care unit."

"Please, call me Amy. 'Miss Rohrbach' makes me feel like I'm still in the academy."

Harry laughed lightly. "As you wish."

"I..." Amy licked her chapped lips and Harry handed over a cup of water that had been sitting next to her. "Thanks. What happened...exactly? Why am I here and not at the Blüdhaven hospital?"

"We were closer." Harry explained simply. "You were on the outskirts of Blüdhaven interviewing a witness when you were attacked. The ambulance brought you here just in time."

"Oh...okay."

With that, Harry's patient fell silent.

Harry glanced at Amy's vitals readings, nodding absently to herself. "You seem stable for now, Amy, so I'll leave and let you get some rest. You'll need plenty of it to heal."

Before she could turn away though, a hand shot out and gripped her wrist.

"Wait...the surgeon who operated on me...if you see him, would you thank him for me?" Amy's fingers tightened around Harry's wrist. "I'm...really grateful. I have two children and I couldn't imagine..just...just please thank him for me."

"Of course, whatever you need." Harry replied. "He'll be in to check on you sometime in the near future too, so you can thank him yourself if you would like."

"Oh, right...yes, I'll do that. Thank you." With that, the young policewoman released Harry and sank back down into the mattress. "Oh...one more thing."

Harry arched an eyebrow expectantly. "Hm?"

"Could you get someone to contact my partner? He's probably worried sick...he was right next to me...I just know he's somewhere beating himself up over it." Amy chewed on her lip before adding lightly, "And honestly, he probably can't last a day without me."

"I have no doubts about that. He must be a lucky cop to have you as a partner." Harry winked. She pulled a pen and a small sticky note from the breast pocket of her blue scrubs, handing them over to Amy. "Why don't you write down his name and contact information and I'll have someone at the front desk get on that immediately."

Amy nodded gratefully and took the pen, scribbling quickly on the yellow paper before handing the two back to Harry. "Thank you for everything, Harry."

"Oh, please," Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Just doing my job."

She reached up and uncoiled the power cord from the hospital bed remote, flipping the long cord out of the way and setting the remote down right next to Amy's hand.

"If you need anything else, press this red button here and I'll be right over."

Amy nodded and Harry stepped away from the bed, flashing the woman one more smile before drawing the curtain closed. She closed the door behind her as she exited the room. The smile slipped from her face and she let out a sigh, one hand raising to rub her eyes. She'd been feeling quite exhausted lately and even her magic seemed to be suffering from the drain. It must be due to her nightly activities, though she swore she had done far more in the past and had still been able to handle more than a mere 12-hour shift.

Merlin's beard, maybe she was getting _old_.

"Harry."

She glanced up at the urgent tone to see one of the other nurses on the floor standing before her, looking frazzled. The woman's scrubs were rumpled and her expression was one of mild disturbance. "He's at it again. Should I call for security?"

"No, I'll handle it. Do me a favor though, Gloria, could you contact this..." Harry squinted at the yellow sticky note in her hand and stuck it out towards her co-worker. "...Officer Grayson, and give him an update on the patient in 7W-022? He's her partner."

"Of course."

Harry nodded in thanks and followed the sound of raised voices. She pushed the door open and folded her arms in exasperation when she was met with the sight of a fully grown man whining at the top of his lungs.

"Mr. Wilson." Her magic reached out toward the patient and the male nurses struggling to hold him down. The nurses gave matching sighs of relief when he finally stopped struggling and Harry grinned inwardly. Her ability to calm even the most difficult of patients had earned her a certain level of respect from the staff on her floor. She'd initially felt guilty, like she was cheating somehow—in all her lives, she had always _tried_ to remain modest and avoid using her magic for unnecessary purposes—but the feeling had quickly dissipated when Harry realized that her skills made things so much easier for the already overworked and tired staff.

"Let's settle down, shall we? We don't want you to rip those stitches open again."

* * *

Harry stood outside the warehouse, eyes narrowed and head tilted as she tried to pick up any sign of activity from inside. She quickly determined that it was empty.

_Guess I'll wait._

Her fingers lightly grasped her wand and she twirled it absently, rolling it smoothly over her fingers. In _theory_, she didn't really even need it anymore, since the Master of Death title came with small perks like an absurdly enhanced magical core, but it made her feel less drained on days like this and she was rather fond of using it. When Harry grew tired of fiddling with her wand, she stowed it back into the sleeve of her cloak that covered the wand holster strapped to her arm.

The moon was bright, illuminating the damp concrete of the dock she stood on. Harry tilted her face up towards the sky, closing her eyes and breathing in the nighttime air. It probably wasn't a very popular opinion but she thought that the city was simply beautiful at night, with lights glittering like a field of fireflies and skyscrapers reaching up and up into the clouds.

There was something so powerful and visceral about Gotham. The city came _alive_ at night, host to the sleepless, the lonely, all the good and bad, all of the daylight's exiles.

She pursed her lips. Yes, Gotham was beautiful at night, but Harry wasn't blind to the fact that it was just as ugly, if not more. The criminal underbelly of Gotham was certainly keeping her busy. Ever since she'd moved here two years ago, Harry had quickly learned that this was no ordinary city. Death had only been partly right, this one certainly was an interesting life, but the things she'd seen in her twenty-two years alive in this world, there wasn't anything in particular she _liked_ about it. Perhaps that could change, if she ever managed to clean up these streets. It seemed impossible though, what with the endless revolving door of criminals ready to make their marks on the city. She wasn't really sure how it had come to this, healing people during the day and taking down criminals during the night. It was only supposed to have been a one-time thing: reveal the truth about and bring justice for the murder of Mr. Bentham's wife. And she had done so with ease. But then the more she dug into the city's history, the more horrors she found and the more her disgust for Gotham's underworld grew. So now here she was, skulking around in the dark in a cloak like some sort of pervert or creeper.

Harry sighed, rubbing her forehead._ I feel like an old woman with depression and back issues already. _She tried not to think of the fact that it was _technically_ true, if one added up the years she lived. No, she much preferred to stick to her physical body's years, thank you very much. And with her Occlumency shields in full effect, it wasn't like Harry could solidly remember any of those lives anyway. They just felt like dreams, ghosts of memories drifting faintly in the back of her mind.

Harry leaned back against the warehouse's wall. She almost managed to lose herself in the calm sound of rippling waves, but was snapped out of it after a few minutes when the sound of engines alerted her to multiple cars pulling up to the warehouse.

Harry instinctively flattened herself against the side of the warehouse, though she didn't have to. Her disillusionment charm was holding strong and no one would be able to see her unless they looked really hard. And with the darkness of the night and shadows draping over her, it would be near impossible to tell that there was anyone there.

At least ten men emerged from the vehicles, all armed with what looked to be military-grade weaponry. The guns looked startlingly familiar and Harry frowned. Hadn't she just intercepted a large weapons shipment the other week? Granted, it had been for a couple of Joker's goons and she was pretty certain that this group was not affiliated with the Joker in any way from the types of cars they used and the way the men were dressed, but it couldn't be a coincidence that they were using the _exact_ same weapons. But then who was _this_ gang getting their resources from?

With the cars came a large white van, and Harry froze when she picked up signs of movement behind the dark windows. This was what she had been looking for. One of the men pulled the door open, while another slammed his hand on the side of the van.

"Rise and shine, _ladies!"_

Harry felt sick to her stomach, even though she knew exactly what these men did and who was in that van.

One by one, small figures stumbled out of the van, wrists bound, squinting at the moon as though they hadn't seen the light of day in days. The victims were mere _children_. Girls, aged from ten to fifteen, though Harry could barely tell. All were so pale and emaciated it was entirely possible they were older. They clearly hadn't been fed properly in weeks and some of them looked close to collapsing. Harry frowned. Human traffickers usually preferred their victims to be relatively healthy. What sort of purpose would these girls serve?

"Get moving, bitch!" One of the men lashed out with his foot and it connected with a girl's shins. She fell to the ground and tears welled up in her eyes. Harry's wand slipped out from its holster and into her hand on command. Her fingers gripped it tightly, knuckles turning white as she resisted the urge to go out there and beat the man until he cried out for his mummy.

Another one of the armed men hit his friend over the head. "Shut up, Dice. Boss said to be _discreet_."

"There's no one here is there, dumbass?"

"Please." The soft plea fell from one of the older girls' lips. "Please let us go. We won't tell anybody."

"You know what, girl? I think you've been talking _way_ too much for your own good." The man, Dice—_what kind of a stupid name_—raised his hand, clearly about to hit the girl.

Harry narrowed her eyes. She didn't like bullies.

"_Stupefy._"

The stunning charm hit him dead center in the chest and he collapsed, the carbine in his hands hitting the ground with a loud clatter.

"What the...where did that light come from? Dice! Dice, you good, man?"

Upon hearing no reply, one of the men lifted up his fist, signaling to the men. _Bingo._ Harry smirked, eyes fixing on the leader of the group.

The leader suddenly brought his hand down to his hip, palm facing down. The rest of the men bent their knees and lowered themselves closer to the ground, guns aiming restlessly at nothing.

Harry narrowed her eyes, recognizing the tactical hand signal. _Ex-military._ She worked her jaw and quickly assessed the situation. While she could technically just pick them all off from here, it was quite dark out and some of the men had gathered the girls around them now. Cowards.

Her decision was made for her when one of the men pressed the muzzle of his gun to a girl's head. He looked fearful, beady eyes darting around. Clearly one of the newer recruits.

Her cloak whipped around her as she appeared with a _crack_ right behind the man, silently weaving a web of shield spells around the girls.

"What the..!"

Harry slammed his head into the side of the car, hooking one leg around his ankle and tripping him. It was crude, but it was effective.

And it had also just drawn the attention of every single man standing on the dock.

Bullets began to fly.

Harry threw out an arm in the girls' direction to indicate they should hide behind the cars. Once they were safely away, she turned back around and Disapparated, reappearing behind the group. Though they had spread out now, taking them down like this was no problem anymore, her wand firing off barrages of curses that had most of the men sprawled out on the ground, immobile and unconscious. A few of the more experienced and faster ones still stood though, and one whipped out a pistol once his semiautomatic ran out of ammunition.

"Shit!" Harry snapped, ducking into hiding.

She recoiled, touching her side and feeling the sticky, warm wetness of blood. She stared down incredulously at the wound from the bullet that had grazed her side. How had that gotten past her shield? For Merlin's sake, she must really be out of it today. _Get it together, Harry._

"_Episkey._" That would have to do for now, until she could have a better look at the wound later. Harry fired a blasting curse directly at the ground beneath the men's feet, knocking them backwards and onto their backs. She was pleased to note that none were getting up anytime soon. Harry strode forward, her cloak swirling like a dark mist around her feet. She stepped over the mess of legs and guns and conjured up ropes that bound them all together as she went, save for one.

Reaching down to her target, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up.

"_Re__nnervate_." Harry tipped her wand so it dug right into the leader's forehead. His eyelids fluttered open and he began to cough violently, spitting out blood in his mouth. "Who do you work for?"

The man merely stared at her before starting to laugh, a chilling sound that held absolutely no sign of fear or remorse. "You have no idea what you are dealing with."

"You know, it's funny." Harry smiled mirthlessly. "Why does everyone underestimate me? In all my lives, honestly."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The man ignored her rhetorical question and bared his teeth, grinning at her with an ugly expression. Blood glistened on his teeth and there was a red tint in his eyes, giving him a manic sort of look. Harry arched an eyebrow. He seemed awfully confident. "No matter. You will _never_ beat him. He is so much _stronger_ now."

"Who? Who's stronger?"

"They _all_ are."

Clearly the man was going to give her nothing. Harry shoved a hand into the pockets of her cloak, digging around for the vial, but quickly realized with dismay that she had used up the last of her Verisaterum yesterday when digging for leads. _The hard way it is, then. _Harry snarled in frustration and grabbed the man by his hair, this time jabbing the tip of her wand into his chin. "_Tell _me."

"What is that, a stick?" The man barked out a laugh. "_Ooh_, scary."

Annoyance coursed through Harry. _I should just Crucio the bastard. It's not like he doesn't deserve it._

But she eventually decided against it and tossed her wand to the other hand, placing her right hand on his head and pressing a thumb against his temple, where she knew the pressure point was. He screamed and the corners of Harry's lips twisted up into a smile. It had been quite a while since she'd punished someone who deserved it like this. Before she could get any further in her search for his boss' name though, she heard the familiar sounds of sirens screaming and blue and red colors lit up the dock.

Harry cursed. She contemplated just taking the man with her, but upon seeing the cops stepping out of their cars and shouting and pointing at the two, she dropped the man and ducked out of sight.

She could get to him later.

Harry Apparated up to the top of a nearby building, gazing down at the flashing lights and the crying girls stumbling desperately towards them. The men remained unconscious and bound, though by some of their movements, some of them were about to wake up. _Huh. Guess I need to hit them harder next time. _Harry turned on her right foot, thinking of the inviting warmth of her apartment and the promise of a hot shower, and disappeared with a _crack_, but not before casting one more look over her shoulder at the GCPD officers rounding up the stirring criminals.


End file.
